


One Who Seeks

by electricghoti



Series: One Who Seeks [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conspiracy Theories, Demons, Gen, Loss, Qunari, Scars, Tal-Vashoth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricghoti/pseuds/electricghoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The illustrious beginning of Inquisitor Ashkaari Adaar: waking up in the cabin after trying to close the Breach and being overwhelmed by what just happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honor and Loss

She was going to die. If even the servants didn’t know about a trial, then the Chantry had decided on execution instead. She hadn’t moved from the bed after the elf girl nervously informed her that Cassandra wanted to see her ‘at once’ in the Chantry. A small spark of hope had lit when the elf gushed about how pleased the people were after the Breach was sealed, but the gratitude of peasants meant nothing in the face of righteous anger. She was just an oxman and already looked on with suspicion due to the Kirkwall siege years ago. The people hadn’t forgotten. Just like they wouldn’t forget that she murdered the Divine.

The very idea repulsed her. She had no love for the woman personally, but toppling the biggest institution holding together Orlais and Ferelden would be a dream to the Qunari. The thought that the Qunari would now make life even harder for the Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth who escaped them threatened to make her blood boil. The pad of her thumb pressed against the newest scar across her palm as if she could rub out the unfamiliar magic lingering beneath the surface. She glared at the thing with contempt and a spark of green flickered across her palm. In defiance, she decided. A parasite that was spreading until Solas had slowed it, and she had stopped it.

Her thumb paused its rough erasure, and wide-eyed she peered at her palm more carefully. The magic was unfamiliar. Pooling energy in her palm for spells washed around it, not through it. Her magic didn’t mix. Whatever caused it hadn’t come from the south. Mages here were trained in their Towers, and even apostates like her accessed similar teachings. The Qunari were different. Their mages were different and destructive. There was a poison that could wipe a person’s memory. She knew that much from the grim stories some Tal-Vashoth would tell of their escape.

She couldn’t remember how she got this mark. The spirits by the Breach had reenacted the final moments, but spirits are only as accurate as emotions. Was her mind poisoned first to merely believe she was saving a person? Did she truly destroy everyone on that mountain? Did she murder her parents willingly, or was she a manipulated victim as well? The pit now swallowing her stomach gave her no answer but overwhelming fear and guilt. All it took were a few teardrops to escape her eyes before the true gravity of what just took place loosed a river. She lost everything.

She had new scars. That whispered revelation in her mind pushed itself to the front the longer she held her palms over her eyes to try and dam the flow. Her lip felt strange, like there was a new crease sliced on the upper portion. The thumb of her marked hand had brushed against a border where there should have been none. A jagged new plane of skin from her temple which felt lightly tender to the touch. New scars. After any other battle it would have just been another trophy to add to her collection. A mark of pride for one more day lived. These must have been healed after she fell out of a rift. The pit yawning in her stomach began to close in favor of dim hope. Mercenaries either capturing prisoners or holding nobles treat injuries equally. None are left to fester unless an execution would be in the future. The Chantry does not abide by mercenary conduct, yet still Cassandra ordered someone to heal her.

Finally sliding from the bed, she was done weeping like a child. A trial would be fine. She would live long enough to make her case, to warn the angry and the scared that the Qunari surely had their hand in this tragedy. For her parents she would keep her head high, for her friends, she would be presentable. Boots tied. Coat straight. Staff hung on her back, not threatening in her hands. If Cassandra could let her have new scars, then she could face the woman on equal ground like she would any other mercenary. Taking a deep breath in front of the door, she wiped the last of the tears and squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t leave these people to the whims of Qunari plots. 

She had new scars to honor.


	2. Faith Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small expansion of the initial in-game crisis of faith conversation with Leliana and how she reminds Ashkaari of other Tal-Vashoth. An important first step in understanding Leliana.

Perhaps it was the quiet desperation behind the serious expression which drew her toward the hunched woman kneeling in an isolated corner of a tent. The shake of shoulders and the mouthing of a prayer used as much to prevent composure from crumbling as it was for deliverance. Leliana had gone from jailor to spymaster and played each role with smiles and courtesy. Perhaps that’s all it was - a mask. Ashkaari had gone from worst criminal to Herald of the faithful in a matter of days, somehow caused a mountain to explode and lost her entire mercenary band in the process. Her family. Her heart was shredded, but she wasn’t the only one to lose on that damned mountain. Leliana had lost one. A very important one sacrificed on a whim of an uncaring murderer, if the memory by the rift was to be believed.

Ashkaari paused at the entrance of the tent, close enough to hear quiet whispers of prayer, but found herself at a loss for words. She had the luxury of breaking down, of expelling a portion of her fears in the cabin when she awoke, but Leliana seemed to have no such luxury of privacy. Whatever words she might have used to reach out fell away, lost in the worry that she had chosen the poor decision of invading a private moment. Accusing words spoken with the sharpness of needles behind them bridged the gap for her. The corner of steely eyes both a noose to keep her rooted and a judge condemning every fault.

“What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all this? What’s his game?” 

Startled by the sudden interruption, she barely resisted the urge to put her palms up as if she were caught touching something she wasn’t supposed to. All her suspicions, her fears about qunari magic and spies withered in the brief panic of being put on the spot by someone who was hurting and hated the interruption.  
“Don’t look at me! I barely understand what’s going on.” She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, her poor word choice punctuated by the small frown of frustration turning down the corners of Leliana’s mouth as she rose from her kneeling position. 

“The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us…” Leliana began as she turned to face Ashkaari, continuing to speak with frustration and resignation over an absent god and injustice He allowed to happen. Leliana’s voice never shook, though Ashkaari caught a sneer that was less like anger and more like a mask to hide grief from taking over. 

“I’m sorry.” Ashkaari stated sincerely, with a small amount of wonder. “Justinia’s death has clearly hit you hard.” Ashkaari hadn’t expected to witness such a crisis of faith in a human, much less someone so involved in the Chantry. The result was...uncomfortably similar to the frustration new Tal-Vashoth experience after they’ve escaped from the clutches of the Qun. She’d never even seen Qunari lands, yet she’d seen the pain of extraction from several qunari who had sought out her merc band. It was always the same: how could they justify what they thought or felt when the Qun expected - ordered - them differently? And here was a human woman who was going through the same trial of trying to justify, to figure out what it all meant in the face of a god - a Maker - who set different expectations.

“Maybe you have another purpose. I could help you find it?” She offered this to Leliana with the same honesty she gave Tal-Vashoth. Purpose is what drove them as Qunari, but they had to make or discover their own purpose as Tal-Vashoth. As independent thinkers. While Leliana had never known the Qun, she thought perhaps similar encouragement might help bring a new line of thought to the despair.  
“No, this is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this.” With that Leliana turned abruptly to a makeshift table in the corner, shaking her head to clear away all thought of what she had just spoke of. Quill. Inkpot. Parchment with scribbled words and parchment without. Methodically taken out and arranged without thought, as a way to force a routine to focus on less painful things. 

Obviously a cue to go, yet Ashkaari felt as if she shouldn’t leave Leliana to her own isolation just yet. Leliana reached out first, but she would be last. The only thing she could think to give was advice a better woman than her had said to every struggling qunari who were near their breaking point. Leliana was no qunari, but her faith in her Maker and Justinia had crumbled like any Tal-Vashoth who was uncertain freedom from a living god, the Qun, was a good decision.  
“Shokrakar, the leader of my merc band before the Conclave, she was a good woman. She always said the same thing to new Tal-Vashoth who were struggling to find their place: You can choose to ignore everyone but yourself and take from who you want, or you can choose to live by example of what others can achieve.”

All she earned for that was a silent nod from Leliana. Cool and back to business. Not even a smile to cover the crack in her armor she had chosen for Ashkaari to briefly see, simply the gentle scratching of a quill on parchment to let her know this line of dialogue was done. She heard Leliana’s final parting words after she turned to make her way to the Chantry, sounding a little apologetic and a little less resigned.

“If you are heading into the Chantry, I’ll join you shortly. Something...was brought to my attention and I need to confirm the information.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A temporary note for those who totally swore they read this already: yes, you probably did. I've actually put all the chapters of One Who Seeks where they're supposed to be. As chapters and not "part of a series." Silly me for not realizing sooner that I uploaded them incorrectly as (essentially) separate stories and not chapters of one story.


	3. Mercenary Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expansion of Cassandra's "Where are you from?" conversation at Haven, after spending some time in the Hinterlands, but before choosing a faction to recruit.

Far from the brothers and sisters reciting the Chant of Light, or the bustle of the tavern and shop, she’d retreated to a section of Haven where groups of soldiers trained and sparred under the watchful eye of Commander Cullen and several former Templars. She held no particular love for Templars, but sitting by an unused practice dummy, surrounded by the din of the soldiers and practice swords smacking against shields seemed the most familiar place she could find. She missed her life before this mess. Her mercenary family. Her parents especially, and there would be no news for days to come. Yet, she still found herself sitting in the middle of the soldiers, reading over hope in a letter which proved she wasn’t alone. 

Wrinkled and jagged, the paper held in her hands looked as if it was torn from scrap and shoved in a pack for days before reaching Haven. The ink blots were irregular, with larger spots showing where the writer had been distracted. The script was a slanted and angry print, but comfortingly familiar. Leliana might be divine herself, managing to deliver a letter from the only other surviving member of her mercenary band. Of course it would be Shokrakar, rebelling against even the impossible odds of surviving that mountain explosion. There would be more. Maybe. If Leliana’s people were as good at finding lost qunari as they promised. The tips of her fingers unconsciously began to trace the edges of the now healed gash from her temple as she read over the letter for the millionth time. The little worries in the back of her mind couldn’t be settled until she knew more information. How hurt was Shokrakar? Why couldn’t she come to Haven directly? Are any others alive? What if it’s not her, but a lure so Qunari spies could tie up loose ends from the Breach?

“Is there good news?” A voice inquired from off to the side, startling her enough to snap her head up to face Cassandra, who appeared equally surprised to see someone else here. “Given how excited you seemed after speaking to Leliana I had thought so, but seeing your expression now makes me think I was wrong.” Cassandra shifted her feet awkwardly, adjusting a plain wooden box held against her hip and a wrapped blade in the other hand. 

Ashkaari had forgotten this space was Cassandra’s preferred training area. She had sat in the first empty space she came across and hadn’t thought of the possibility of Cassandra using it later. Or now. She waved for Cassandra to sit, who methodically began to unwrap the blade as she listened. “Not exactly. One other qunari survived and managed to send a letter through. From speaking with Leliana it sounds like there may be more. ...If her people can find them.” 

“I am glad to hear more survivors are being found. I can imagine how hard it must have been thinking you had lost everyone you came with.” The wooden box was next. Cloth and a bottle of oil for cleaning the blade. She paused, frowning as if she’d misplaced some small yet crucial component. “It...occurs to me that I don’t really know much about you.” 

“Leliana hasn’t told you everything already? I’m shocked. It’s been weeks.” A sarcastic quip to an unspoken question she already knew the answer to. Of course Leliana wouldn’t have held back information about a qunari mage who may or may not have blown up a mountain on purpose. The statement was surely a test. There always was for humans who never quite believed that not all qunari had ulterior motives.

“She has collected a frightening amount of information on you, but I didn’t want to hear anything from her. I want to hear it from you. Even something small like... where you are from? You do not sound Ferelden or Orlesian.” Ashkaari couldn’t help but lift her brows in surprise in the absence of slur or backhanded compliment, even for such simple statements. Genuine was not a word she could often ascribe to most people she dealt with, yet for Cassandra it seemed a natural trait. Even when no one was listening except that obnoxious Chancellor, she’d eavesdropped enough to know that Cassandra had defended her from being taken to trial. Loudly.

“My mercenary band worked mostly in the Free Marches, even after the siege in Kirkwall.” She folded up the letter in her hands before shifting to face Cassandra, who had gone back to caring for her blade to keep her hands busy. “It hasn’t been easy. I grew up with them and while we didn’t have a place to go at the end of a job, wherever we were was home enough for me.” 

“I admit that I’m surprised you stayed after what happened in Kirkwall. Those in the Free Marches can be...forceful against their enemies. Would it not have been easier to travel south for work?”

“You may be right about that, but let me tell you something about Shokrakar…” One thing turned into several. Each anecdote reminding her of some other lesson her mercenary family had taught. Shokrakar, a leader who never took the easy route to freedom even after being reeducated countless times in Qunari camps. Her father, who gave his daughter the opportunity to grow beyond the weapon he would always be as a former Saarebas. Her mother, who kept her daughter grounded and knew that fostering curiosity was the greatest rebellion against a tyrant. Home. Enough of a ward against those suspicious nobles and angry commoners who saw their horns and immediately thought the worst.


	4. Setting the Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashkaari tries to convince Leliana that Qunari have converted Lord Seeker Lucius and gained control of the Templars, citing Iron Bull (among other things) as an obvious example of how the Qunari are gearing up to attack the newly formed Inquisition.

“I am uncertain what you want me to say. I have given you all I have on The Iron Bull so far. I am still expecting agents to return with more information.”

“How about telling me I’m not completely crazy?” Ashkaari threw up her hands in frustration. She and Leliana had been talking in circles and gotten nowhere productive. Equally in circles was the path Ashkaari would eventually wear on the floor in front of the makeshift war table if she couldn’t think of a compelling reason for Leliana to care. She’d no doubt the spymaster would keep a close eye on their new guest, but not as part of the bigger picture.  
“Talking about the Qunari after I closed the Breach just got me side-eyes and dismissal. Now we’ve got an actual spy gloating about his good fortune just outside the gates!”

She paused in front of the war table with her hands on her hips, fingers nervously tapping and rubbing the fabric as if she would shut down like a clockwork toy if she didn’t continue moving. In stark contrast to Ashkaari’s energy, Leliana sat very still in a chair behind the war table since the conversation started. Poised like the Empress on her throne, she displayed the polite interest of a noblewoman not actually invested in the subject at hand. Her response, like all the others, was cool and rational...and careful not to directly acknowledge a certain qunari’s insanity.

“Templars and Qunari are usually in different circles of conflict, no? I’ve received no reports of Qunari in the north suddenly able to dispel magic. Templars following the Lord Seeker are troublesome, but not unusual in light of this chaos.”  
Before Ashkaari could open her mouth to respond, Leliana pointedly added a final statement, pursing her mouth in disapproval afterward.  
“Nor indicative of a higher power influencing the Lord Seeker.”

Ashkaari huffed childishly and returned to her circular track in front of the table. A piece was missing. A connection to bring the Qun’s importance to the forefront where Leliana could tie the loose strings together. To her credit, Leliana waited patiently in silence while Ashkaari gathered her thoughts. Observing. 

“Maybe...think of it like any spy network. The Qunari are interested in us, but they have spies all over the place. They do things to people to get information. Get in their heads. They actually poison any qunari who doesn’t fit in with stuff called qamek - worse if they happen to be a mage.” Her pacing slowed as her train of thought solidified, winding down to a halt in front of the table again. She turned to face Leliana with one hand unconsciously protecting her throat from the collar she would have had as a Saarebas.  
“Templars were respected by everyone. They were everywhere a Chantry was. Most people consider them incorruptible. If you wanted to break the Chantry, or even just get ahold of a well-trained mage killing army, you’d turn the leaders to your side. Templars are very good at following orders.”

She fell back to silence in anticipation, hopeful that she finally found some line of thought that would resonate. She never had to actually explain Qunari before. Any Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth would already know. Mercenary jobs never involved Qunari plots and giant rifts to the Fade. Humans either thought she followed the Qun anyway, or couldn’t be bothered to care if she did.

“It would be very difficult, but possible with enough time, influence and resources.” Leliana grudgingly admitted. Her brows furrowed as the wheels began to spin. She sat up a little straighter in the chair, which Ashkaari took to hopefully mean Leliana was finally taking the threat seriously. Qunari as a whole were considered little more than bogeyman due to their isolation up north. It was no wonder it took so long for Leliana to take it seriously without hard evidence. “You mentioned Cassandra appeared surprised with the Lord Seeker’s change in attitude. Almost a different person. If this only took place after the Breach, then the Lord Seeker sought to gather Templars either after orders were given or as a contingency if something else failed to happen. If he has turned to the Qun, there is still the question of why he marched the Templars halfway across Ferelden to wait.”

“It’s me.”  
Ashkaari stated bluntly after several seconds of silence, crossing her arms tightly in front of her. A self protective gesture which made it very evident she was uncomfortable with the notion. 

“Excuse me?”  
Leliana, on the other hand, merely appeared interested in the idea as if another piece of a puzzle locked into place. Surely she had her own ideas already, yet she raised her eyebrows expectantly for further explanation.

“The Lord Seeker could have left with the Templars at any time, but he put on a show for us in Val Royeaux. Cassandra would know he was different, which would either make us curious and go after them, or dismissive of his attitude and ignore him in favor of Fiona. No matter what we choose…”

“A very interesting trap. We seek Redcliffe and they can attack the town en masse, killing the largest gathering of mages and potentially capturing you. We seek Therinfall and the Templars will be in their stronghold far from Haven and support. Either way carries the opportunity to remove the only person who-”

A sharp squeak overshadowed the rest of what Leliana would have had to say. Startled by the interruption, Ashkaari whirled around to see...Josephine of all people barging through the door. She half expected a soldier coming to tell them an army of horned giants were at the gates.

“Oh, goodness! I apologize if I interrupted, but it is good that I found you.” Josephine began, raising a hand with her palm up apologetically. Confused, but obliging, Ashkaari silently nodded for Josephine to continue.  
“Cassandra and I believe we have finally found a viable solution to acquiring the Lord Seeker’s attention. It may sound a tad unconventional given that Templars do not involve themselves in politics, but it should grant us an audience.”

“Are going to actually explain what it is? And where is Cassandra?” She inquired, peering around Josephine to look through the doorway. She would have thought Cassandra would jump at the chance to make contact with the Templars again and find out why the Lord Seeker acted so strangely.

“Cassandra offered to fetch Commander Cullen, and they both will be here momentarily. In the meantime, I would be happy to explain since the Commander will already be informed. This is how it begins…”


	5. Taking the Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being forced to pick between the rock and the hard place, Ashkaari found herself trapped in her own mind by a demon. Simply the escape and meeting Cole portion of the Champions of the Just questline.

She should have known better than to risk herself appealing to Templars. Especially Templars who fortified themselves in a ruined fort with no obvious directive other than to hold and wait. For the second time since crawling out of a rift in the crater of a mountain, Ashkaari felt her death would be imminent and painful. She had thought herself prepared for Qunari controlled warriors, prepared to risk their magic dampening to save the Redcliffe mages from getting caught in the crossfire when she would later contact Fiona. An village siege would have been preferable to what she discovered inside Therinfal.  
It might have saved her the horror of discovering not Qunari converts, but someone - something - else pulled the strings of the Seeker who led these Templars. Something which grew sharp red lyrium from their backs like deep Mushrooms splitting open a spider carcass. Something which pulled her inward and thrown into the mind maze of a demon determined to steal every part of her identity...and she had no idea how to stop it. 

While no stranger to spirits, Ashkaari was not lucky enough to meet this demon in the Fade. There, at least, she would have been on equal footing. In a dream, bludgeoning the walls with the rounded end of her staff in an attempt to physically exert her will should have cracked the walls of her prison. In this space the walls stood fast. She merely managed to tire her arms and crack her staff instead. That she was aware a demon manipulated the shapes of people she knew or that it could tease and taste her memories was neither a comfort nor apparently an effective weapon. She had no one but herself to rely on...and would soon lose that if she couldn’t find some weakness, some chink of imperfection she could throw herself into. She just had to look harder.

 

Conjured balls of flame and shards of ice thrown against the walls briefly stuck against the stone before being absorbed into the cracks like desert sand thirsting for water. The effort only served to tire her further. Doors opened to bricked walls and exploded into sparks to the sound of far off, amused laughter. The only open path led through Haven’s prison where she first regained consciousness to green sparks bursting from her palm. The demon’s rendition of the memory crackled with pulsing lyrium and swirling fog, refracting the light eerily against a perfect copy of Cassandra. Soldiers surrounded her kneeling shadow copy and stared toward it with baleful glowing eyes. Unsettled, she gave a wide berth to the center scene and tried not to slouch with shame for letting mere memory be used against her. Her father would be disappointed. There wasn’t supposed to be a difference between the mind and the Fade when being taught to resist demons.

“ _When I am you, the people will **never** forget what you do to them._ ”

Somewhere in the distance - or maybe in the back of her skull - she recognized her own voice taunting her behind the gleeful, throaty growl of the demon’s natural sound. It was already stealing her shape. Where she intended the people’s safety more important to maintain than overshadowing with blind faith and strict order, the demon saw a throne bloodied and commoners fearful she wouldn’t forget them. There, perhaps, was the weakness to exploit. Envy sought reactions. Every detail used to mold itself to her shape like it had with the Lord Seeker. She wasn’t strong enough to dull the fear which slithered around her belly or her rising frustration at her own weakness, but she could still pretend to be uncaring and unmoved by the danger. She knew Vivienne to be a master of the trade from experience. Ashkaari wished she had the foresight to have spent more time asking about presentation to go along with the planned negotiations and escape plan.  
Gouts of heatless flame suddenly erupted from spinning statues, startling her into cutting short her intent to imitate Vivienne. She believed the waterfalls of green fire to be another illusion to deal with like the disappearing doors. **Willed** the flame harmless and nearly jumped out of her skin when she attempted to walk through with her arm raised to shield her eyes, only to painfully discovered it burned. Intensely.

Inhaling sharply she gritted her teeth, then slowly exhaled with a hiss to keep herself from crying out. Tears prickled behind lids shut in a grimace from the pain, and threatened to spill over her cheeks when her eyes opened. Her skin had peeled and blistered in the heat as if from a real fire. While she examined the wound, a bubble of cool blue light puddled in the palm of her other hand. A bright gold outline of tissue surrounded the blistered, wet-looking burn which popped against her normal bronze skin, illuminated by the spinning gouts of fire. As tendrils of blue swirled around her forearm, Ashkaari breathed a sigh of relief as the pain receded to a more manageable level. Her arm would would be hot and reddened for days yet as if she spent too long in the sun, but better than risking infection later if the burn actually manifested on her real body. Whether expending the energy to heal was a worthwhile endeavor or not was something she would just have to deal with when she managed to reach where the demon was hiding. **If** she managed to reach it.

“ _You’re hurting, helpless, hasty._ ”

Salvation in the form of a spirit in the shape of a young man. He gave her a fighting chance and most importantly: a path. No more circular mazes into old memories and future horrors. Her path was upward, churning with thoughts to oppose rather than skirt around the barriers Envy placed. Water to smother fire. Sparks to light the darkness. A spirit’s encouragement that fear was all right. She received the push in the right direction she was looking for. A push she desperately needed and took advantage of when the opportunity arose. Secret paths opened with insights of Envy that somehow transferred to her mind, pieces the demon couldn’t help but take with it when it took over. The guttural growl of frustration she heard with each piece of new information brought no small amount of satisfaction...and hope. If it felt threatened with such knowledge and the addition of an unexpected spirit, then she had hope for regaining herself before a Templar with a bow managed to get a lucky shot.

She knew Cole’s words rang true when the demon ceased showing memories to try and hold her back and instead opted solely for visions of her possessed future. An army of demons. Assassinating an Empress. Terrifying in their display...yet also trite in a way. An empress she’d barely heard of meant little compared to bloodied torture of common people, those she drank with and protected for her entire life as a mercenary. Envy slipped up and she latched onto its poor improvisation like a Ferelden Mabari on a bandit’s leg. This was the chink in the armor she’d been searching for.  
With Cole’s encouragement she navigated quickly, jogging briskly through a manufactured forest until she reached a less tree filled countryside. A familiar countryside, judging by the towering structure rising up from the trees. Shades sprung from her shadow and the ground began to bubble around her with sporadic geysers of crystal and flame. False shades, she noted when she looked back, since they merely followed her about like marionettes guides by a puppeteer. She didn’t care. Ashkaari broke into a run, leaving her immediate fear and hostile soldiers Envy created behind her. The gate to Therinfal Redoubt lay just ahead and she had a feeling it was her true way out.

" _Get out of-_ ”

She may have been dangerously surprised by the demon having snuck behind her before she could open the gate, but she certainly used the opportunity its distraction with Cole opened up. One fist swiftly swung against the demon’s inner elbow of the arm holding her in place, forcing it to release her from being held against the wall. With her other hand, she grabbed a fistful of shadowy clothing and tugged the demon towards her as if jerking on a leash. She didn’t much care for the oxman slur sometimes used to describe qunari, but opted to channel a bit of the namesake by smashing her forehead against her shadowy facsimile. If her opponent wouldn’t play fair then neither would she.  
Her vision went white shortly after her head collided and all she could feel was throbbing in her forehead for several seconds before her vision cleared. Just in time to see smoke billow from her chest and coalesce into a pale, spindly demon unceremoniously thrown on the floor of the great hall. As it righted itself, its skin tore open to reveal a gaping maw of teeth and screeched in anger at Ashkaari before fleeing behind a barrier further into the Redoubt. 

Ashkaari silently glared at her former captor, not immediately trusting herself to do much more without breaking down. She needed to continue the momentum, needed to put on a brave face for her companions and for the shocked and battle weary Templars not turned into lyrium filled monsters. She wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place to hide, but she still had a job to finish.

“It’s an Envy demon, and I need to know how to kill it.”


	6. A Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashkaari's very close brush with a demo motivates her to seek out the one mage she believes to have the experience to understand her almost-possession by Envy at Therinfall Redoubt: Madame Vivienne de Fer.

Haven bustled with all manner of noise and activity, both within the Chantry and without. Servants carried messages, workers and soldiers resettled camps and fortifications to make room for the first of the fledgling Inquisition’s true alliances: the Templars. The uncorrupted that remain, at least. The most experienced of the Templars would be arriving in mere days, but the main body would still need to be squeezed into what remained of Haven’s free space. One small corner of the Chantry housed a bubble of calm, order in the chaos. Madame de Fer sat with her back to the world, drawing a quill across parchment like a painter with a brush. Every word seemed expertly penned and written in the even pace of a person who knew exactly what she wanted and how to say it. 

For several minutes Ashkaari noted the dips and swirls of the quill and the gentle scratching of the tip with a tunnel visioned fascination, a need for something regular and normal to focus on when everything else seemed to fall apart inside her. She was simply satisfied leaning against a pillar and watched Vivienne pen her letter in silence. “My dear, if you stand there for much longer birds will begin to believe you are part of the architecture and nest between your horns. If I truly desired privacy I would have gone elsewhere.” The voice of Madame de Fer betrayed no irritation nor surprise of being observed, merely the casual amusement of a noble making a jest at the expense of an inexperienced player. The scratching of her quill silenced briefly before resuming its impeccable path.  


“Uh-” Ashkaari stuttered, startled that Vivienne was the first to break the artificial calm amidst the din of Chanters, workers, and arguing advisers. Sheepishly, she took the unspoken invitation to circle around to the side of the desk. Her back against the wall became her new support, and her arms crossed tightly in front of her. “Sorry, Lady Vivienne. I didn’t want to say anything before you were done.”

“My work is never finished, I’m afraid.” She quipped with an upturned corner of her lip, a small dig at herself to invite the inexperienced to share. The gentle swish of liquid from the ink bottle silenced her quill, set aside to focus her attention on a qunari who appeared to wish she could melt into the wall. “Until the Templars arrive, yours should be done for the moment. How may I be of assistance?”

Where she might have given a wry response in public, Ashkaari only managed a furrowed brow and a frown. The Templars were coming, but their demon was already here. Its slender fingers pulling apart every memory, every shape in her head. Or maybe not anymore, since she left it in a courtyard of Therinfall Redoubt, burned and bleeding for trying to steal her face. She hugged her arms more tightly around her waist, fingers gripping the fabric of her clothing while she spoke. “How do you do it, Vivienne? How can you fight a demon and still be sure everything that’s left is still you?”

“You are, of course, referring to the incident at Therinfall.” She reduced the entire conflict to a single, polite sentence not to diminish the horror of what was experienced, but to distance the person most emotionally entwined. Distance, not wallowing, would give more power to the woman who unwittingly dove head first into an experience apprentices either die from, or succeed and become Harrowed. “My dear, you have triumphed over every mage’s fear.” Her face softened in sympathy, a glimpse of understanding and camaraderie for the situation Ashkaari found herself in.

“You expelled a demon from your physical body through your own strength of will - a feat Circle mages only face while dreaming. Expelling a demon is a complete affair, however it always leaves a mark on your memories. That is what lingers and it is up to you to decide how you deal with the consequences.” Where most would have smiled for the victory, Ashkaari averted her eyes as if a student caught in a lie. She could explain, again, that she was not the only one to be released from her brief mental imprisonment. A spirit in the shape of a boy that no one could remember guided her when she couldn’t see the path.

For all her will, she would have lost herself where Vivienne would have succeeded.“That’s the thing. I didn’t do it alone. I had help. My father taught me how to avoid temptation, but I was completely unprepared when that...thing got a hold of me. I learned more about weapons than magic when I was growing up. What do I do the next time a demon decides to jump into my body and there’s no one to save me?”

“You rely on the most powerful tool at your disposal, of course.” Her response was immediate, as if spoken a hundred times before, the sympathy in her voice replaced with a firmness that comes with personal experience. Enough to sway Ashkaari’s eyes from studiously memorizing the texture of her boot. “Knowledge is what may save you when all other avenues are exhausted. In the Orlesian courts a rumor can sway crowds, and truth can kill. Demons are slightly less subtle regarding their affairs.”

“As far as I know, you’re the only one who actually knows what’s it’s like. I heard Circle mages actually fight demons on purpose. I want to be able to do that myself.” She pushed herself from the wall, her arms removed from protecting her torso in favor of hanging loosely at her sides. An open demeanor to ask without truly asking on the chance Vivienne would refuse or treat her as any noble would a commoner. There was the fight - the pride instead of shame. “I need to and you’re the only one I can learn that from.”

“My dear, I offered my services the Inquisition because I believe in restoring order to chaos. I would be happy to teach you proper Circle training if you truly have a desire to learn. Tomorrow.” _...Because every life is precious and an untrained mage doesn’t simply risk their own when magic goes wild._ The implication went unspoken, but the message still passed behind the guarded smile of an Iron Lady who never got used to losing apprentices under her tutelage. For the sake of the world, she would make sure not lose this one.


End file.
